


Private Show

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, M/M, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one-shot in my <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/667161">Stripped Bare</a> verse.  Blaine and Kurt break in their new apartment, and Kurt has a little surprise for Blaine.  You could read it by itself but it won't really have much of an impact unless you've read the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Show

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: very brief breathplay.

"No peaking," Kurt whispers, urgent and close against his ear. 

All Blaine can process, blind as he is with Kurt's hands folded over his eyes, is the comfortingly familiar scent of Kurt's skin cream. He's excited—of course he is, how could he not be? It's their first day together in their first place together and Kurt has kept almost all of the details from him until now. He has no idea what to expect and he is vibrating with curiosity.

"Let me do this," Kurt had said, months ago. "It means a lot to me and it's something that I've always dreamed of doing." Blaine certainly had had no desire to refuse; the excitement in Kurt's voice had been obvious and complete, and an equal joy had taken root in him, as well. 

Blaine and Rachel's divorce has been amicably settled and Kurt and Blaine are free to love each other—they continue to deal with Blaine's family's not so happy reaction, the awkwardness from Rachel's family, and the slow but steady acceptance from their mutual friends as time goes on, but these firsts between them are special. 

He had not expected them to be able to afford this so soon, but Kurt had landed a role and he had found a lucrative engineering job; between the two of them they are managing extraordinarily well. Blaine has been able to go back to school for a degree in musical education while they both work. It's not the ease that Blaine had enjoyed being married to a lawyer, but it's almost better for that; having less, he appreciates what he does have even more. He wonders if he'd ever really appreciated anything about his good fortune, health, and opportunities before loving Kurt.

"Okay," Kurt says. "It's not done, of course. We still need to move half our stuff, but—" He can feel Kurt's fingers tremble with excitement. "I just—I want you to love it. I'm nervous."

"Oh, my god, can I look now?" Blaine breathes, practically bouncing on his toes.

Slowly, finger by finger, Kurt takes his hands away. Blaine blinks a few times to get used to the morning sun streaming in through the eastward facing windows. Everything is so _bright_ —and then he realizes that this is because the apartment is nothing but bright. The floors are pale hardwood, the furniture is mostly beautifully varied shades of cream, and the accents everywhere are shades of blue so delicate that they take his breath away. 

It's a small apartment, of course, like every living space in New York that fits into their budget, but the windows and the light colors make even this small space seem substantial. It's beautiful, and Blaine stands in the middle of the living room and holds his breath, just taking it all in. Kurt has done a lot of work already putting up shelves, building them into the structure of the apartment so that all of the wall space is utilized so that they still have room to take advantage of the open and floor space.

It's so Kurt, so _them_ , that he loves it immediately.

"Oh, Kurt," be breathes, hands over his mouth. "How have you managed to do all of this so fast?"

Kurt's arms slide around his waist from behind. "I've been planning this since I was eleven," he says, dry and flat.

Blaine laughs. Kurt's chin tucks over his shoulder and they just hold each other for a moment. The morning sun is warm on their skin. 

"There's a little—something else," Kurt says, finally.

"Are you kidding? This is more than I ever dreamed of."

"It's kind of silly. But—okay. It's the entire reason that I chose this place. It's a weird bit of the original architecture that I sort of—had redone."

Blaine turns in Kurt's arms. "Okay, this set up is too good. What are you...?"

Kurt takes his shoulders and turns him entirely around. In the corner opposite the living room there's a metal pole, running from the floor to the ceiling. It takes Blaine a full half a minute to realize what it is, and by then he's laughing and crying at the same time.

Kurt laughs with him. "I'm sorry. It's—ridiculous, I know. But it's how we met and I have some really fond memories of that place. It was originally just a wooden pole. I'm not really quite sure what the original purpose of it was. But I had it replaced."

Blaine grabs Kurt around the waist and cuddles into him, kissing his neck and face with hurried, frantic kisses. "I love it. I love you. I love everything about this place." He breathes out softly against Kurt's throat. "Is it—functional?"

"It's a pole," Kurt replies in a monotone.

"No," Blaine counters. "Is it going to see use?" He grins, sliding his hands down Kurt's back. "Do I get to request private shows?"

Kurt pulls back, smoothing fingers through Blaine's hair. "Funny you should ask that." He prances over to the corner where the pole resides. There's an iPod resting on the woodwork next to it. Kurt picks it up and slots it into the speaker base beside it, grinning suggestively at Blaine.

"You planned this," Blaine accuses.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Blaine Anderson," Kurt replies, turning on the music. It's the same instrumental/club mix that Kurt had used the first few months in the back room of the club.

"Oh my god," Blaine breathes, amused and turned on and horrified all at once. "You—are insane." He grins. "You kept that?"

"You asked for a show," Kurt says, by way of explanation, and begins to sway his hips softly back and forth to the music. He's wearing a Henley, tight jeans that are strategically ripped across the backs of the thighs, and boots that come up to his knee. He looks like sin incarnate.

Blaine struggles for the umpteenth time with an attraction so strong that it literally makes his skin hurt. How is it possible that he not only is allowed to indulge this, but also to have Kurt's love and affection at the same time? He is the luckiest man alive.

Kurt puts one hand on the pole and swings around it once. He does it again, only this time he wraps one leg around the pole at the knee and swings, eyes locking with Blaine's.

"I may be a little rusty," Kurt says huskily. His ears are already a screaming shade of red.

"Fuck," Blaine breathes. "That's probably a good thing. I don't know how I'd get through you being completely on point without interrupting."

"No, no, no interrupting," Kurt replies, wrapping his other hand around the pole and stopping behind it, thrusting his pelvis softly up against the metal, allowing his knees to bend and spread. His hips shift from side to side as he inches down, down, down, shaking his hips to the floor. "You're going to stay there. Right there." His ass brushes the hardwood.

Blaine's mouth goes dry. He reaches up and loosens his tie and collar.

Kurt comes back up off of the floor as the music picks up a throbbing bass line as well as a faster tempo. He circles the pole, seems to decide exactly what he wants to do, and proceeds to give Blaine quite a show, using the pole to great effect; he mounts it, climbs it, rocks against it again and again, allowing Blaine to stare to his heart's content.

It's when Kurt starts to get breathless and sweat a little that Blaine starts to lose it. This is by no means the flashy, glitter-covered, half-naked routine that he used to watch Kurt do at the club, but it's almost sexier for that. 

The tight Henley keeps stretching over Kurt's biceps, flat belly, and beautiful, tapered back. The glimpses of pale skin through the tears in his jeans make Blaine want to literally tear them off of him, and the muscle that runs down the center of Kurt's thighs can't be hidden by the tightness of the jeans, either. The smooth, black leather boots hugging Kurt's calves remind Blaine of all the times that Kurt had worn a similar pair and almost nothing else when they'd frantically gone at each other in the back room of the club. Blaine has always had a full on fetish for Kurt in boots.

"I used to watch you do this, dying inside," Blaine admits, overheating in his dress shirt and slacks as Kurt's thighs hug the pole. "You were the first guy that I ever got hard for."

Kurt's eyes find his. They're liquid, bright, and breathtaking. "Do continue."

"I'd never imagined what it might be like," Blaine continues. "But with you it was as easy as breathing. Imagining your body, what it would feel like under my hands. Imagining the way you'd smell, the way you'd taste." He wets his lips, eyes falling. "The way it would feel to touch your cock. To get you off." He can feel heat pound at his temples and arousal skip down his flesh like stones over water. "To bend over for you. To let you—inside of me."

Kurt falters, but only for a moment; his body is tight against the pole and Blaine notices when he grinds up just a little harder against it. " _God_ , Blaine—" He turns, putting his back to the pole and Blaine, working his ass all the way down and then back up. The high, tight globes of his buttocks spread just a little around the pole, and one of the tears in his jeans reveals just the vaguest peek of flesh. Kurt isn't wearing any underwear. Blaine's thoughts fracture.

"The way you used to watch me," Kurt breathes, "as if you were seeing everything you wanted but wouldn't let yourself want at the same time." He twirls, legs apart, straddling the pole horizontally and sliding down it slowly, so slowly, thighs and knees tight. "It used to drive me nuts. And yet—you never disconnected. You never got drunk or hit on me, you never ran away. You just—sat there, and watched, and _wanted me_. And then—having you alone in the back, god, it was torture. Because even then you didn't change. You just—respected me, and took whatever I offered, you were so _good_ , Blaine. So good." He's shaking, now, and not from exertion—he's hard in his tight, artfully distressed jeans, rubbing himself against the pole like a cat in heat.

"Kurt. Jesus Christ, I—"

Kurt slides a hand down the front of his shirt and lets it dip just faintly down toward his pelvis, eyes blazing. "Come here."

That's all the permission that Blaine requires. He groans as he closes the distance between them, taking Kurt by the hips and pressing him back into the pole. Kurt's fingers sink into his hair and they attack each other's mouths, trading wet, dirty kisses as their hips grind together.

Blaine spins Kurt around, pressing his front to the pole and nipping kisses across the back of his neck. He strokes Kurt's back and hips, and finally lets his fingers trace the rips in Kurt's jeans. He slides his fingers inside the holes, finding nothing but smooth, heated skin. He hisses, confirming the no underwear status, and thrusts forward, driving Kurt's body against the pole.

"Fuck," Kurt whimpers. His hands are still high on the pole and his arms stretched above him, drawing the muscles across his shoulders and back tight beneath his shirt. 

Blaine pushes his hands up and under the Henley, shoving the material up. "Let me...?" 

Kurt separates from the pole long enough to allow his shirt to be stripped off, then replaces them as Blaine breathes warm across his shoulder blades.

"You are so fucking hot," Blaine sighs, trailing wet kisses between Kurt's shoulder blades, going from freckle to freckle until he can't go any lower without kneeling. Kurt quakes against the pole, his muscles tense and quivering. The jeans that hang low on his hips are pale, a little sweaty at the waist when Blaine's fingers find them. The front of the jeans are a series of buttons which he traces with his left hand as his right hand cups Kurt's ass.

"Blaine," Kurt moans, ass churning back against Blaine's crotch to the beat of the music. His body _rolls_.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks, sucking at Kurt's flushed, creamy shoulder. He writhes forward into Kurt's body, squeezing that beautiful ass again and again.

"Fuck me," Kurt whines, turning his face back into Blaine's; Blaine tucks his mouth up against the underside of Kurt's jaw, nibbling wildly. "Please. Right here. I can—bend—just, please? Need you, need to feel you."

They've only done this a few times; Blaine prefers to bottom. But those few times when Kurt had been pliant enough, relaxed enough, _wanted it_ enough had been—incredible. Shaking, Blaine rubs their bodies together and groans.

"God, yes, I—shit." He doesn't need to explain himself.

Kurt answers, "In my bag."

Blaine hates to let him go but does so, retrieving the necessities. He trembles as he cups them in one hand while scraping his fingernails across Kurt's belly with the other. He can't resist the urge to slide his hand down between denim and skin, pushing his fingers between Kurt's legs and squeezing his cock gently. Kurt is hard and wet at the tip and Blaine whines, rubbing against Kurt's ass while he strokes his cock.

" _Shit_ ," Kurt hisses. The music is raw and sexual as it twists up between them, giving their movements a throbbing rhythm. "Fingers. Please. Fucking touch me, _need it_."

Blaine massages his free hand over Kurt's cheeks slowly, despite the urgency in Kurt's voice; there is only so much rushing that they can afford to do if this is going to be enjoyable for Kurt. He breathes in and out slowly, warmly, trying to calm down as Kurt's beautiful hips and back squirm into him, as that gorgeous ass spreads wide for him. Kurt's pucker is already so eager for him, dusky and winking.

He doesn't have to undo the buttons to get Kurt's pants off; Kurt is so slender that with a forceful push they slide off of his pelvis to pool around his knees; the boots stop them there.

Blaine hisses at the sight of all that milky, freckle-speckled skin. Kurt's ass spreads across his clothed pelvis, cheeks parting. Kurt is staring at him over one shoulder, cheeks and ears and neck bright red, sweat dotting his temples and forehead. His mouth is a trembling round shape, full of soft, wet tongue. "Please?" he begs.

"Shh," Blaine replies, stroking slick fingers down the cleft. "Lean forward and bend down for me, baby, okay? Never going to reach you like this, can you...?" He typically loves the couple inches of height that Kurt has on him, but not at times like this.

But Kurt is a dancer by trade, and it's not very surprising that he can maintain a position bent at the knee and thrust back like that. Blaine sighs hungrily, setting aside the lubricant and condom and using the moment to take off his tie. He grins, draping it around Kurt's neck, and then shrugs off his shirt, shoes, socks, underwear and pants in short order.

The lubricant has dried up already, so he gets some more and begins slowly, slowly stroking Kurt open, nothing but the pads of his fingers on Kurt's hole and perineum for a few minutes, patient as Kurt begins to whine and twist and press back. Only then does he gently slide one digit in (in and down in this position, as Kurt had tutored him early on), panting sympathetically as Kurt moans and squeezes around him. He twists the finger in and out, in and out, then adds another and begins moving them faster but not harder, working Kurt open.

"Oh my god," Kurt gasps, after several minutes go by. "I'm good. Now, please now."

Fuck, all of that skin, flushed cherry over vanilla, the dip of his lower back, the bend of his spine, the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck—sometimes it's too much, how beautiful Kurt is; there simply isn't time to admire it all at once, and sometimes Blaine can't even control how distracted he gets when they're like this.

His cock has been leaking wet smears across Kurt's lower back. He drags it lower, now, letting the shaft slide wetly between Kurt's cheeks. "Oh, _fuck_ , honey. Fuck, you feel so good. Wanna be inside you so badly. Wanna feel how hot and tight you are for me." He rubs the length of his cock up and over Kurt's entrance, again and again, watching the soft pink pucker gape for him, feeling the head of his cock catch on it.

" _In me_ ," Kurt gasps. "In me, now, now—"

Blaine can't wait any longer. He reapplies another round of lubricant and slides the condom on. With both hands on Kurt's hips he pulls back and then pushes forward. Kurt hugs the pole. His knuckles are white around it as Blaine sinks inside, eyes closed and lungs seized up.

" _Jesus_ ," Blaine gasps. Kurt is like a vise around him. He tries to breathe in time with his thrusts to control the rhythm, but it's almost impossible; the beat of the music fast in his ears combined with Kurt's needy, jerky backward thrusts has destroyed any semblance of control. He lets Kurt sink back onto his cock, lets Kurt set the pace as the music soars.

"Yeah," Kurt pants, "yeah, right there. Just let me—just—okay. Fuck—f-fuck—" His pelvis is _writhing_ as he fucks himself back onto Blaine's cock, as the fat shaft spreads him wide again and again. "Okay. You can—move. Come on, fuck me."

Blaine loses himself in the sucking pull of Kurt's body. It feels all at once like too much and not enough, and it isn't long before Kurt is a flushed mess of skin and muscle and bone around him, gasping and sobbing filthy nonsense.

When he's sure that Kurt is enjoying himself, he reaches down and takes Kurt's cock in his right hand.

" _Oh god_ ," Kurt whimpers. "Oh god oh god Blaine. Blaine. Fuck."

"Slower?"

"No, no, fuck no I need to—so fucking close."

He swivels his hips, fucking Kurt deeper, slower, as his fist flies around Kurt's cock. "Like that? Wanna come like that?" He speeds up, then, and thoughtlessly grabs the tie that he'd draped around Kurt's throat, wrapping it tightly and using it to pull Kurt up a little. Kurt moans—breathing cut off for just a split second—and Blaine slowly eases up on the pressure.

"Yes. Yes, fuck, don't stop." Kurt's hands scrabble damply for purchase on the smooth metal; Blaine puts his fingers between Kurt's to help him stay in place. "Yeah. Yeah. Oh, fuck. Oh _god_. Ch-choke me again." Shuddering, Blaine twists the tie against Kurt's throat; Kurt spurts over his fist with a sob, splattering the floor and the pole alike as his body jerks again and again. Blaine grins, closing his eyes and slamming home, hard.

"Want you to come in my mouth," Kurt gasps. He drops in a confused hurry of long, naked limbs, and before Blaine can even respond he's on his knees and taking the condom off.

" _Kurt_ ," Blaine gasps, fingers finding Kurt's hair as Kurt's hand finds his bobbing erection.

"Come for me," Kurt growls, sinking his mouth down around Blaine. He thrusts deep into Kurt's mouth, pressing the back of Kurt's head against the pole in the process. The way he looks there on his knees, muscled thighs spread, cock still half-hard and smeared wet and white at the tip, fingertips digging marks into Blaine's hips and his _mouth_ , Jesus, his wet, pink, angelic mouth slurping hungrily around Blaine's cock, his perfectly arranged hair a mess as Blaine's fingers continue to ruin it, and there are slanted red marks around his throat from the squeeze of Blaine's tie—

Blaine comes so hard that his knees almost buckle. The feeling of Kurt licking the come back into his mouth as it spurts, the hollowing of those cheeks around him as Kurt swallows and even licks into the slit at the head for more—so fucking _wet_ , so hot, so soft—it's all too much. He stumbles a half step to the left and Kurt laughs, overwhelmed and satisfied.

"Oh my god," he breathes, laughing at himself.

"I dub this apartment officially broken in," Kurt breathes. "Can I get an amen?"

Blaine folds to the floor and rolls onto his back. "Amen, love. Amen."


End file.
